


And The Keys to the Kingdom Got Locked Inside the Kingdom

by lit_chick08



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Kink Meme, POV Multiple, Prompt Fic, Sibling Incest, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/pseuds/lit_chick08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you tell a king to stop sleeping with his sister?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Keys to the Kingdom Got Locked Inside the Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [ASOIAF Kink Meme](asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com) for the prompt:
> 
> Robb/Sansa - _People are willing to look away/pretend nothing is happening, but all hell breaks loose once he gets her pregnant._

It is no secret within Riverrun's walls that Robb Stark, King in the North, treasures his sister. His men thought him mad for exchanging the Kingslayer for Sansa Stark, but their king insisted the trade must be made. She rode into Winterfell with shadows in her eyes and her beautiful face swollen and bruised; as Lady Stark and Lady Sansa's handmaids would find out, her entire body was covered in bruises and welts, a final gift from Joffrey Baratheon and his false Kingsguard. Whatever has been done to Sansa Stark is terrible, and the men almost understand their king's decision.

Edmure first realizes the relationship between his niece and nephew is not like others when he sees Robb leaving Sansa's chamber in the dead of night. His clothing is rumpled, the laces of his pants not fully tied; Robb freezes when he sees Edmure, a look akin to panic on his features, and Edmure realizes just how young his king truly is.

"I imagine the princess is plagued by nightmares," Edmure offers. "It is kind of you to sit with her."

Robb visibly relaxes with a distracted nod, and Edmure tells himself there are far worse sins in the world than for a brother to comfort his sister.

* * *

Catelyn recognizes something is amiss on a sunny afternoon. Dacey Mormont tells her Robb has taken his sister for a walk of the grounds, wanting to show her the river on one of the last warm days of the season. She instantly knows where Robb would have taken her; there is a gently sloping hill overlooking the water where flowers still grow, and Cat relishes in the idea of spending a carefree afternoon with the only children not lost to her. 

Sansa's laughter rings clear as a bell, and Catelyn smiles; she has not seen anything close to happiness on Sansa's face since her return from King's Landing. As she reaches the clearing, Catelyn sees Sansa, barefoot with unbound hair, standing knee deep in the water; her gown is on the bank, her shift gathered in one hand to keep it dry. Robb is bare-chested but soaking wet, obviously having slipped and fallen fully into the water. Sansa squeals as Robb catches her behind the knee, pulling her down, and Catelyn's heart aches with gratitude that they can put aside the war for a few short moments and romp like children.

Her daughter breaks the surface, sputtering and pushing her hair from her face. Catelyn is stepping forward to announce herself when Robb cups her face, gently brushing strands away from her eyes with the tips of his fingers. Even from a distance, Catelyn can see Sansa tremble as she leans into the caress; even before their lips meet, Catelyn knows what is about to happen and finds she cannot speak. This is no chaste kiss between siblings; she can see Sansa's lips part to accept Robb's tongue, watches Sansa sink her fingers into Robb's curls to hold him tighter. Catelyn's knee-jerk reaction is to announce herself, to shout at them for behaving like Lannisters.

But Sansa is smiling as they break apart, her laughter sweet as birdsong, and it is the first time Catelyn has seen a glimpse of the daughter who went south with her father. Sansa has always been sensitive, required a bit more cosseting than her siblings; if a few kisses with Robb can return her to the girl she once was, Catelyn does not see the harm.

* * *

The Blackfish discovers them in the hazy hour between night and day. Dawn is coming, another day at war, and he needs Robb's maps to plan the invasion of the Westerlands. As he opens the door to the room which has been serving as their small council room, Brynden immediately notices the shadows dancing on the walls accompanied by pleasured gasps and moans. There, slouched in the chair where Hoster Tully once sat, is his king, head tilted back, face twisted in ecstasy as a woman with long, auburn hair sucks his cock. Her movements are slow, designed to tease, and Robb tangles his fingers in her hair, entreating in a desperate pant for satisfaction; Brynden does not need to see the girl's face to know it is his great-niece.

He waits outside the room, hears Robb try to muffle a shout as he spends; Sansa disappears down the hallway without noticing him, rushing on bare feet, and, when he walks into the room this time, Robb jolts upright in his chair, fumbling with his opens laces.

“You should not forget to bar the door, Your Grace,” is all the Blackfish says.

It is not the place of a soldier to reprimand his king.

* * *

Roslin Frey knows something is amiss the very first night. They call for the bedding, and, beneath her anxiety, she is excited to be Robb Stark's queen. And while Robb does not treat her unkindly, prepares her with gentle kisses and soft touches, he takes her on her hands and knees, and, when he peaks, it is his sister's name he breathes into her hair. If he is aware he said it, he gives no indication, and Roslin cannot bring herself to mention it, too afraid of what his answer would be.

He comes to her bed only once every moon, when the maesters say it is most likely his seed will take root; Roslin does not know where he spends the other nights, but she can hazard a guess. She knows she should feel offended, should raise her voice and complain, but being Robb Stark's tolerated wife and queen is still better than being just another daughter of Walder Frey.

The closest she ever comes to broaching the subject comes one evening when she ventures, “You love your sister quite well, my king.”

Robb says nothing, and Roslin never mentions it again.

* * *

Maege Mormont is the mother of daughters, and she knows how to tell when a woman is swelling better than any maester. The moment she catches Sansa Stark flinching from the scent of fish, she knows there is a babe in the girl's belly; in the days which follow, she watches the way the princess tugs at the bodice of her gown, trying to alleviate pressure on her breasts, and listens as the maids whisper about how often the princess naps. It is only after Dacey mentions discovering the princess vomiting in the godswood that Maege takes her suspicions to Catelyn Stark.

Maege knows the whispers about Robb and Sansa Stark; she does not even doubt they are true. But if it is known that the King in the North got a bastard on his sister, support for the Northern cause will fall apart quickly, spearheaded by the Karstarks and Boltons.

Lady Catelyn gathers those they know to be the most loyal to Robb – Dacey, the Greatjon, Smalljon, Jason Mallister, the Glovers and Manderlys, Edmure Tully, and the Blackfish – and Maege repeats her concerns. It could be called treasonous, what they are doing, but their forces cannot withstand the defection of disillusioned men. There is talk of giving her tansy, but Catelyn insists Sansa will never agree to killing the child; Jason Mallister suggests sending her back to Winterfell to have the child in secret, and there is even talk of sending her to a motherhouse in Oldtown, leaving the child to the septas.

“We cannot make any plans without the king's approval,” the Blackfish drawls, and Maege sees the exhaustion and sorrow on Lady Stark's face as she volunteers to speak to her children.

Maege has never been more grateful to have only daughters.

* * *

Theon doesn't think twice when Robb says he requires a personal favor of the highest order; Robb Stark is his brother and his king, and he is honored Robb would make a request of him. He expects to be given command for an upcoming battle; he does not expect Robb to ask him to marry Sansa, who is swelling with his child.

“They want to send her away, Theon,” Robb explains, the very picture of despair, “send the _child_ away. Sansa will never survive being stripped of her child.”

Theon is not stupid; he has known that Robb spends more time between Sansa's thighs than Roslin's for months now. But he had never imagined either Stark would be so careless as to allow a pregnancy. “So you want _me_ to wed her, make people think I got a child on her before the wedding.”

“I understand it is much to ask, but you are the only one I trust to ask.”

Sansa Stark is a beautiful woman, tall and lush with a pair of teats Theon has jerked his cock thinking about dozens of time since she first flowered; there are certainly worse fates than wedding a beautiful princess, even if she _is_ pregnant with her brother's bastard.

She's exquisite in her wedding gown, the Stark cloak around her shoulders; even as they say their vows, Sansa barely looks at him, her eyes flitting just past his shoulder to look upon her brother, and Theon feels something like pity for both Starks as he replaces the direwolf with a kraken and brushes a kiss against her warm lips. Their wedding feast is subdued, and, when they call for the bedding, Theon sees Robb tense as if someone has struck him.

If Sansa is exquisite in her gown, she is breathtaking nude; the small bump of her lower abdomen is the only reminder she is not truly his, but Theon is used to women who only give him the illusion of possession. He is unashamed of his nudity, walking across the bedchamber to pour them both a cup of spiced wine; Sansa does not flinch away or try to hide herself beneath the furs, and he wonders if she knows how much she looks like her brother when she is steeling herself for war.

“I won't hurt you,” he swears, handing her the wine.

“Robb will kill you if you do.” Her face softens, taking a sip of the wine. “But thank you for doing this.”

She keeps her eyes closed the entire time he fucks her.

Theon wonders how long it will take for her to stop picturing Robb.

* * *

Eddard Greyjoy loves Winterfell. It is nothing like Pyke with its rocky shores and rickety bridges; here there is nothing but green everywhere he looks, and Mother doesn't fret over him running around like she does when they are on the Iron Isles. His sisters are still little, afraid of the wolfswood and their uncles' direwolves, but Eddard loves it all; he will be nine on his next name day, and Aunt Asha always says the Ironborn grow faster than others.

The weirwood trees are his favorite part of the North, and Eddard loves to climb high, balancing on their branches; his mother hates it when he climbs, says that is how Uncle Bran lost his legs, but the swaying branches move the same way the rope bridges of Pyke do and even Damphair remarks on how he never loses his footing. As the leaves whisper around him, Eddard begins to descend back towards the earth when he sees Grey Wind; of all of the direwolves, Uncle Robb's wolf is his favorite. The rasp of Grey Wind's tongue against his cheek makes him laugh, and, when the wolf pads further into the trees, Eddard follows.

The bright flare of red hair catches his eye, and Eddard changes course; only his mother wears her hair that long and loose, and he has never seen her in the godswood. She keeps the Seven and his father keeps no gods at all, though he pretends to worship the Drowned God when Damphair is present; only his Stark uncles keep the Old Gods.

Uncle Robb is reclining under a weirwood, his broad back pressed against the trunk, his legs stretched out before him; his mother is on her knees, one leg on either side of his uncle's body, and Eddard watches as she cups Robb's bearded face, watches as they kiss for a long time, his favorite uncle's hands rising to tangle in her hair.

Eddard has never seen his father and Aunt Asha kiss this way. He is not sure brothers and sisters are meant to kiss this way.

His father is in his solar writing a letter, and he smiles when he sees him. Despite his mother's best efforts to keep him in the castle with the girls, his father insisted he accompany him when fulfilling his duties as King of the Iron Islands. Eddard adores his father; it is why he confesses what he has seen in the godswood.

Father grasps his shoulder tightly, looking him in the eye. “You must never tell anyone what you saw today. It is not for others to know.”

“I don't understand.”

“You don't need to understand, my boy. You just need to do it.” Eddard says nothing, terribly confused, and his father sighs heavily before asking, “You love your mother, yes?”

“Of course.”

“You want to protect your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can never tell a soul or else it will hurt your mother.” 

Eddard doesn't understand why his mother was kissing his uncle; he does not understand why it will hurt his mother if anyone knows of it or why his father is not angrier about it. When Tristifer Botley found Qarl the Maid kissing Aunt Asha, they beat each other bloody before Father finally called for an end to it, and they weren't even married to Aunt Asha.

But what Eddard doesn't understand most is why all of his sisters have the Greyjoy look and only he is russet-haired with Tully eyes, like Mother, like Uncle Robb.

Eddard never tells another soul what he saw in the godswood that day.

But it is also the last day he ever looks Robb Stark in the eye.


End file.
